


stars in my marrow

by empyrreal



Series: burning bright [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, First War with Voldemort, Multi, Post-First War with Voldemort, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Politics, Pureblood Society, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6842290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empyrreal/pseuds/empyrreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melia, Amelia Bones, Madam Bones. Names don't matter that much to her anymore. </p><p>In her lifetime, so much has changed, and she is not exempt from it. She has seen the halcyon days before the First Wizarding War, the calm before the storm. She has seen the war raze through the world she has known and take and take from her. She has seen the world slowly piece itself together, has seen to it herself, and knows from experience it's not over yet. She has seen the Second Wizarding War begin, but she will not live to see end of it.</p><p>It's quite alright, she thinks. The name Amelia Bones will echo of the stars in her marrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. broken clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia finds out what's inside her bones when she is five-years-old. Suddenly it makes sense why people say she is a bright child.

Strangely, one of her first memories is of a broken clock.

_Tik, tok, tik._

Between 11:59 and 12:00, the iron hand moves back and forth.

_Tik, tok, tik._

An infinite span of time, between 11:59 and 12:00.

_Tik, tok, tik._

Maybe they’re all stories, leaving a legacy of a millisecond in the endless seconds between 11:59 and 12:00. Their lives are evanescent, looking from a galaxy away. The best of them were meteors, streaking across the sky, burning.  
Burning bright.

_Tik, tok, tik._

Between 11:59 and 12:00, everything happened all at once.

 

-

 

Amelia Bones walks past the grand old grandfather clock. She knows it does not work the same way as other timekeeping objects. Not like the intricate wristwatch on her father’s arm. Not like the porcelain gold clock on top of the fireplace. Its bejeweled hands move between 11:59 and 12:00 only.  

Stately and solemn, the grandfather clock stands vigil at the foot of the stairs, facing the door with its black marble face. Amelia walks past it with her polished shoes clicking on the floor lightly.

To the living room.

“Mia!” Oscar’s grubby baby fingers reach for her. He is three years old, two years younger, with chubby cheeks and their mother’s copper curly hair, and has not learnt to say her full name yet.

“Ozzy,” she grins and pinches his cheek lightly.

Oscar wriggles away with a pout. She follows him and sits on the rug next to Edgar, her older brother, nudging him with her shoulder.

Edgar shoots her a smile, navy blue eyes flashing and dark hair wreathed in sunlight. A perfect, golden boy of seven. He pokes her side in return.

(Maybe not so perfect?)

“Ed!” She squirms to the side, giggling.

“Edgar, please,” their mother admonishes. Her warm smile seems almost out of placed with her air of sophistication: her body arranged on the reading chair like a classical statue, her tawny hair cascading over her shoulder like a 40’s Hollywood movie star, and her lips painted meticulously red.

“Sorry, Mum.” Edgar bows his head briefly but sticks his tongue out when Amelia catches his eye.

Amelia reciprocates the gesture.

_Tik, tok, tik._

“Children!” Their father swoops in with a smile like an overflowing spring. His face looks young and old at the same time, dark brown hair with a hint of silver at the edges already. He is not a large man, but he has a large personality and an even larger heart. “Sorry, I’m a little late, but I hope you’re ready for your weekly story.”

“Stowwy! Stowwy!” Oscar claps his hands.

“Stohr-ree,” Amelia corrects.

Their father simply laughs, booming with mirth. “ _Starry_ ,” he says, reaching over to their mother and squeezing her hand with a smile. “That is what our story of the week is going to be.” He leans back on his chair and looks at the three siblings evenly. “Children, do you know how the universe was born?”

 _Universe_ is an incomprehensibly broad and infinitely large word.

Amelia and Oscar turned to Edgar. He is the only one who knows how to read. (For now, Amelia thinks.)

Edgar shakes his head, and they look at their father expectantly.  

_Tik, tok, tik._

“You see, before anything ever existed, there was darkness. An endless void of darkness before everything existed. Darkness consuming, darkness unending. Black.

Then, there was a **BANG**!

And there were particles.

Atoms.

Protons, neutrons, electrons.

The very same particles make up stars and planets and plants and us.

Long, long ago. That is how the universe started.

A singularity that grew and grew and still is growing.

Light starts pushing back the darkness. Scattered stars and shattered starlight. There is space in the endless, consuming darkness occupied by the tiny brilliance of a star.  It seems so insignificant when you look at it from the grand scale. So small and insignificant.”

Edgar frowns, Amelia listens, and Oscar looks back from the bee knocking on their window.

_Tik, tok, tik._

Their father smiles, “But, children, let me tell you: it is so significant. You see, in our universe, darkness will always exist, but you must find the light within you and occupy the darkness as the stars do.

Even if you burn, burn brightly. Because stars don’t last forever. They are born,then  they live and die like we do.

Billions and billions of years, stardust have been gathering to create the world we know now. So yes, there are stars in your bones, too.”

All three of them nod, and their father chuckles to himself, wondering what they heard. Perception is an awfully tricky thing. Even working in the Ministry all his adult life has not helped him discern the thoughts of others without using magic.

The children scatter to their own devices. Edgar has a new adventure planned for them to enact. Amelia is going to make him teach her the alphabet. Oscar wants some cookies, and his elder siblings will get some for him.

_Tik, tok, tik._

Their mother’s face has been inclined towards the window throughout the story, as if she hears waltzes playing from a gramophone outside. Light freckles her features. She looks like a French impressionist painting. Then she turns to her husband with a wry smile, “You really like telling them stories they won’t understand, don’t you?”

He shrugs, “We’re all made of childhood memories, whether we show it or not.” A pause. “Though perhaps, some…” A glance. “...more than others.” A grin.

Mrs. Bones rolls her eyes but takes his outstretched hands anyways.

(It’s been like this ever since her debutante ball. It is every pureblood witch's most important life event. Her mother told her to snag a Malfoy or even a Black for the first dance. But when the bright-eyed, kind-hearted Bones boy asked her, she said yes.)

_Tik, tok, tik._

The grandfather clock is broken, but everything else in the Bones household is whole.

And that is all that matters.

 

-

 

Amelia does not stop thinking about their story of the week.

Neither do her siblings, she knows. Edgar talks about “burning bright,” and little Oscar points to a candle and asks if it’s enough to fill darkness.

She thinks about stars in her bones. Words she vaguely understands. Galaxies growing within her. She looks at the night sky past her bedtime and wonders if the night sky sees in her a reflection.

Stars in her bones. Every tissue, every cell. From her skin to her marrow.

 

Five days after their story of the week, Amelia stops in front of the broken grandfather clock and lays her hand on it. She waits, patiently, like the stars in her bones threatening to burst into supernovae.

_Tik, tok, tik._

Between 11:59 and-

For the first time in decades, the broken clock chimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dare to write challenge; prompt #500


	2. starshaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia Bones is not quite born to be a good pureblood socialite. No, her ambitions stretch beyond constellations: she wants to draw her own.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I am going to be Minister of Magic.”

It’s not a wish, not a possibility. It is a statement, a declaration.

 

Amelia has proven to be a quick learner: she learns the alphabet in little more than two months and starts to recognize words three weeks later. Her drive surpasses her elder brother’s. (Edgar does not have to try as hard.) She feels like she can do anything because she’s like a universe, all light and dark and in between, and because she has bones fashioned from the ashes of dead stars.

Still, it shocks her parents when she learns to say that sentence at the age of eight in a tea party they barely managed to acquire an invitation to.

Mrs. Rosier’s thin, painted eyebrows shoots up.

Her mother’s laugh sounds like porcelain. Light and lovely and manufactured. “Amelia has big dreams.”

“How interesting. Such big dreams are typically reserved for the _heirs_ of our blood.” _Not heiresses_ , those flashing eyes seem to warn. Mrs. Rosier has a son the same age named Evan.

Amelia stares up at the charged air between the women.

“Then it is fortunate that Amelia is both a Bones and a Fawley, rather than a Rosier. We’ve always raised our children to be _exceptional_.” Her mother’s fingers dig into her shoulder, and she straightens her back, looking at Mrs. Rosier with luminous blue eyes that match the pretty blue bow in her hair.

Mrs. Rosier seems smaller under their unassuming yet piercing gazes.

“It’s always lovely to see you, Lenora.” Her mother smiles, and Amelia learns to mimic that awfully pleasant smile in a millisecond.

Then they walk away.

 

-

 

“Dad, why are some wizarding families better than others?”

Her father puts down his copy of The Daily Prophet.

_“What?”_

 

Amelia frowns because it has been her third proper tea party and she has yet to _really_ make friends or understand why the Black girls keep to themselves. “Bellatrix Black told me I can’t play with Narcissa because I’m a Bones and not good enough for them.” Personally, she disagrees. She is a Bones, and she is good enough to become the Minister of Magic in the future.

Her father’s shoulders loses its tension, and he smiles when he picks her up and sets her on his knee. “Mia, darling, we’re all magical. Doesn’t make a difference if I’m the one casting a Summoning Charm or a Black, right?”

She nods slowly. She has begun reading an introductory Charms book two weeks ago, and she wishes more than anything to have a wand. (Though she knows she won’t get a wand before Edgar does, and Edgar does not have a wand yet.)

“Then why did Bellatrix Black say that?” She piques a moment later.

“Because the Blacks believe they have more magical blood.” Her father’s nose crinkles like a button twisting in a shirt.

“So it’s not true?”

They say she has always been perceptive for her age, questions cutting sharper than most seven-year-olds’ would. She learns faster than she can fully comprehend. (She will have time for that later.)

Her father’s gaze is patient. The spark in his warm look indicates that he is impressed. “Magic is magic. Blood is blood, and it doesn’t have much to do with your capabilities, you know?”

Amelia nods.  

Her father searches her eyes and adds quietly, “Some of the best witches and wizards I know don’t have magical parents. We’re all equals, no matter who our parents are.”

“Then what about Muggles?”

Her father’s eyes widen a little as if he hadn’t expected the question. Then he grins, proud, so proud of her, and tickles her side, making her squirm to the side with a giggle. “We’re all human in the end.”

“Then why-”

“It’s time for bed,” her mother is standing at the doorway. “Your brothers are already asleep.” Which, usually, is not the case.

“But I have more questions!” Amelia frowns.  

“Go to sleep, smart girl. I’ll answer your questions in the morning.” Her father kisses her temple and puts her down, nudging her towards her mother. “We need to talk later,” he mouths to his wife, who downplays a smile of amusement before she takes Amelia’s hand.

Amelia is quiet on her way to bed. There is a small crease in her forehead because her mind’s cogs are spinning so fast they catch on her skin .

“Why so many questions, Amelia?” Her mother’s voice has always been lilting as a lark’s. Now it holds a teasing tone.

Amelia flops down on the edge of her bed, pouting. “I just want to know the truth.” Rustling, her dark curls settle on her pillow. She mumbles, “I want to know what’s right or wrong.” Edgar has always been so sure, and Oscar’s too young to know yet.

Her mother’s smile turns almost sad when she pulls the blanket over her. “Oh, Amelia,” her mother’s brown eyes look amber in the dim light, “you’ll find that it’s not so easy to tell if there _is_ a right or wrong when you grow up.”

Her mother kisses her goodnight and leaves.

Amelia stares at the ceiling.

“Hm.”

 

-

     

“I read in a book that our fates are written in stars.”

 

Edgar and Oscar and her are sitting in the attic way past their bedtime, looking at the night sky through the wide window. Amelia believes there used to be a big telescope there. Oscar is falling asleep on her lap.

“Divination is codswallop,” Edgar is nine and knows so much already. He’s going to Hogwarts in two years, and he loves talking about it to Amelia. _There’s a castle and a Giant Squid in the lake..._

“So that’s what it’s called?”

“Yeah, I don’t believe it.” Edgar grins, almost ruefully, “You?”

Amelia looks at him for a moment, thinking. “No,” she answers.

They lean back on some old trunk and Edgar points out constellations. ( _Is Boötes really pronounced like that? Really?_ ) Oscar’s steady breathing is so calm the dust remains where it was, and she knows Edgar will give him a piggyback ride back to their room because he won’t have the heart to wake Oscar up.

The constellations glimmer, but Amelia fails to see the lines connecting the jumble of stars in the night sky into a lion or a giant crab. She has to draw them herself.

She draws new constellations. ( _That one looks like a broomstick, doesn’t it? Ooh! There’s a cauldron with three legs._ ) She thinks Edgar is right: Divination must be codswallop if it means she can’t write her own fate into the stars.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dare to write challenge; prompt #6


	3. petrichor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has always liked learning big words. Sometimes, she forgets them- only the insignificant ones, of course. This one stays. After all, she associates it with her best friend, Fabian Prewett.

**petrichor** (n.)

  1. _a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather_



 

-

 

Amelia honestly did not expect her best friend to be a boy. (She’s already surrounded by two of them. Two! Surely that is more than enough.) But life has a funny sense of humor:

Her best friend, and first friend, is Fabian Prewett.

 

-

 

After the “unfortunate encounter” with the Black girls, her parents take her to other circles within the pureblood (the newest word she learned) society.

No, these are not the “elite” so to speak. They are warmer, Amelia decides after seeing how _lived in_ the Potter manor is. Like her home. She remembers the Rosier manor to be too refined, like an art museum. Imposing and pristine and cold. The Potter manor is far from that, though just as clandestine.

Maybe her mother would like the Potters better.

Edgar seems to know some of these kids already and is so caught up in chatting about what they are going to do when they go to Hogwarts he does not notice his sister’s mild discomfort.

Not that it’s his fault, really. Her mother tends to keep her close in social functions. She understands her mother though. This as a learning experience: watching her mother’s swift grace in a gilded battleground where words are your only swords. Watching and learning until it’s one day her turn.

Except, this is also Oscar’s first social function, and her mother is focusing on him making a good impression on the other adults. Amelia is now left to her own devices, and she has no idea whom to talk to.

Maybe she should go find Edgar. She knows this would be the quickest way. But something about being introduced as “Edgar’s sister” makes her wrinkle her forehead.

Someone taps her on the shoulder. She whirls around.

The boy is her age. His face is round like the moon, but his brown eyes are bright and sharp. When he moves, his curly ginger hair flounces like a cloud bothered by the wind. His smile is a little bit sheepish but full of self-assurance.

“Sorry to bother you, but have you seen another boy with the exact same face as mine?” He points to his own face, a joke at the curve of his lips and hope in his eyes.

 _Twins?_ She guesses. His hair is so brightly orange she is sure she would’ve remembered seeing someone like that. So she shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. Sorry.”

The boy scrunches up his face then slacks into a deep, unhappy sigh. “S’okay. My twin brother, Gideon, is a git. Who ran off without me. And now my mum wants me to find the git.” He rolls his eyes, but he glances at her afterwards as if to gauge a reaction from her.

Her mouth twitches, something like a smile, something like a repressed chuckle of understanding. She is about to voice her sympathies with enthusiasm when she remembers, “I...should probably find my brother, too.”

The boy stares at her hard for one long second. “You know what,” he says, breaking into a grin, “Brothers are stupid. Why don’t we just play together instead?”

She considers him for a moment. The boy with fire orange hair and a smile just as warm. “Sure,” she shrugs like she couldn’t care less, but nonchalance thaws her look of surprise into a genuine smile to mirror his.

“Great! My name’s Fabian,” he holds out his hand because this is a deal and she has just signed herself up for a lifetime of friendship and fun, “Fabian Prewett.”

“I’m Amelia,” she bites her lip to keep her excitement from bubbling and spilling over, “Amelia Bones.”

 

-

 

As much as Amelia loves her brothers, she starts calling Fabian her best friend after two months’ worth of playdates and misadventures. Edgar fights with her and Oscar throws a tantrum. Her father does not look thrilled and her mother looks conflicted.

Her brothers aren't talking to her, and she feels terrible. Do they hate her? It's not fair because Edgar is always hanging around Amos Diggory and Oscar’s getting really good at making his own friends. But it's not okay for her to call Fabian her best friend and spend all her time with Fabian when she sees him?

( _“He's my best friend!”_

 _“And what are_ we _then? Strangers across the street? Look at what you've done now, you've made Oscar cry!”_

_“That’s because he's a baby.”_

_“I am_ not _! I hate you!”_

 _“Fine!”_ )

What's worse is that she is pretty sure Fabian’s brother hates her too and that makes Fabian feel bad and she doesn't want to stop being best friends with him.

“Girls have cooties! Why did you let her come with us?” Gideon whines to Fabian as they kick a way through the tall, ticklish weeds by the lake.

It's like she isn't there at all, and Amelia scowls so darkly the minnows duck between the pebbles and rocks, flashing silver against her stormy reflection. Her shiny new shoes pinch her toes and are staining with mud.

“Look, Gid,” Fabian glances at her, hovering between them, “Mia isn't as bad as you think she is, okay? She's my best friend.” The unwavering strength in his voice is a ray of light to her. At least there's always going to be one person loyal to her, and it's her best friend.

“Oh, yeah? Well, I'm your brother!” Gideon stops and whips around. His chin is tilted proud and defiant and absolutely arrogant. He waved an accusing finger, “And I am way better than _her_. Just look at her! She's such a priss, a sissy little goody two shoes.”

“I am not!” Amelia snaps immediately, almost lunging at him. She’ll show him. Her ribbons can strangle him as nicely as they sit in her hair. If only Fabian wouldn't mind.

“Guys-”

“Yes, you are!”

“Am not!” She is so livid she doesn't react in time to stop Gideon from tugging her silver and glass bead bracelet right off her wrist.

“Then prove it!” The bracelet makes a neat plop as it lands in the muddied water. Flares of rust-colored dust before the water is clear once more. Gideon grins, boyish and insolent through the others’ shock. “I dare you to go in the water and get it back yourself.”

Fabian looks angry on Amelia’s behalf. “Gid, you’ve gone too-”

“Okay.” Amelia’s face is unreadably calm. Serene. Too serene. “I'll do it.”

Gideon opens his mouth to make some maddening remark, but only air rushes out when Amelia pushes him into the water.

_Splash!_

He’s sitting butt-deep in the lake. Droplets of mud splatters his face. There's a piece of water plant sticking to his wet hair.

There's a brief moment of tension that reminds Amelia of summer storms waiting to break.

Then Gideon bursts out laughing like a lunatic. (Amelia is half sure he _is_ a lunatic anyways.) Fabian starts laughing too, and the stiffness in her shoulders melts as she wades into the water herself to fulfill the dare.

“Didn't know you had it in you, Bones.” Gideon sounds genuinely impressed. His grin is still bright and harshly so, but it has lost its pricks. “I wasn't expecting that.”

Amelia tears her searching eyes away from the shimmering waters and raises her brows at Gideon, saying loftily, “Of course you weren't.” But there's a pleased little smile on her face. She feels proud of herself. Fabian looks proud of her too despite how much he's sniggering at the mess Gideon is.

“Well...I bet you weren't expecting _this!_ ”

The cool slap of water in her face definitely came as a surprise. Amelia gasps and whirls around to face Gideon fully.

He's still sitting butt-deep in the lake’s periphery, laughing like a happy lunatic. For some reason, she doesn't feel aggravated at all, even though her newly washed hair is sopping wet in ruined curls. She figures this is Gideon Prewett’s acceptance of her, but she gets distracted by a muffled snort.

 _Fabian_.

Her very own best friend is laughing at her soaked and mud-caked appearance. The traitor.

“Will you stop laughing for a moment and help me out?” Amelia makes sure she sounds cross.

“Right. Yeah.” A little contrite and ever the gentleman, Fabian offers his hand.

Not quite the lady, Amelia tugs on his hand so hard he loses his footing and falls into the lake with a yelp.

He doesn't let go of her hand, unfortunately, so she finds her elbow colliding roughly into the squishy mud beneath the water.

Fabian spits out some lake water, spluttering through his laughter, “You traitor!”

“You totally set yourself up for that one,” she shoves him half-heartedly, grinning widely.

They shriek when Gideon splashes water at them, and a grand water fight ensues.

Terrorized small fish peer from their sanctuaries in rocky crevices at the colossal existences churning their world, creating tsunamis and whirlpools. Tall grass on the shore traps sunlight in between their crowded stalks. Gentle wrinkles form across the lake. The summer breeze echo with three children’s laughter at the edge of the lake, crystallized in droplets of water leaping from the surface.

It doesn't take long for their mothers to find them. Mrs. Prewett is more exasperated than aghast. Her mother is more aghast than exasperated. They're all soaked from head to toe, mud staining their fine clothes. The ugly brown is especially prominent on Amelia’s yellow lace dress and white knee socks.

“Amelia! This is _not_ how a lady ought to behave,” her mother admonishes as the drying and cleaning spells do their job to restore her pristine appearance.

Amelia tries to look contrite. She really does. She is sorry for making her mother upset, but the fun she had outweighs her guilt by a ton. Her glossy brown curls brush over her cheeks when she bows her head and says, “I _am_ sorry, Mother.”

“You two ought to apologize too,” Mrs. Prewett’s fingers are digging into the boys’ jackets when she turns them around to face the Boneses.

However, Gideon is absolutely indignant, “But she's the one who-”

“-got pushed into the river by me,” Fabian finishes, dropping his eyes to his feet to show his shame. “I really am sorry, Amelia, Mrs. Bones.” The adults know him as the shyer of the Prewett twins, the better behaved. (Though looking at Gideon, that is not saying much.) He has round pale green eyes and a boyish pout, and grown-ups fall for it every time.

“It's alright. It was an accident.” Amelia says with a magnanimous shrug, but there is a conspiratorial gleam in her navy blue eyes when she meets Fabian’s gaze.

Her mother lets out a long sigh, and Mrs. Prewett apologizes again for her twins and assures them that she will absolutely deal with them at home.

Gideon frowns, and Fabian grimaces. Amelia gives them a sympathetic look.

“It's fine, it's fine,” her mother waves her hand with a small, practiced laugh. “Why don't we all go back inside in case they catch a cold?”

On the walk home, Amelia slows her pace as Fabian quickens his so they can walk close enough without being side by side. They aren't completely out of trouble, after all.

“You forgot this,” Fabian mutters.

Something cold and thin and metallic slides into her curled palm. Her bracelet.

“Thank you.” For remembering her bracelet. For taking the blame. For being him, really. She risks a glance back at him.

“You're my best friend,” is his only response.

Amelia is a girl who smiles but rarely grins. Now, she adjourns a golden grin, full of pearly teeth. It is fleeting as a flower, but it stays long enough for Fabian to commit it to his memory.

Then she turns her head and trots ahead to catch up with her mother.

 

-

 

A week later, when Edgar and Oscar are still making strong efforts to ignore her, Amelia calls a meeting in the attic, which has become something of the Bones siblings’ secret place.

She tries to put it in words, “Fabian Prewett is my best friend. You two are my brothers. You will always be my brothers, and I-” She doesn’t like crying, isn't used to it either, but her eyes feel sore and liquidated. “I don't want to fight anymore.”

Oscar’s bottom lip wavers, “So you’re promising you won't forget about us even though Fabian Prewett is your best friend?”

“Of course not!” She nearly sobs out in relief and soon finds herself an armful of Oscar. Her baby brother. He's always had a soft heart, and she's always had a soft spot for his soft heart. She hugs him closer and glances over his coppery hair.

Edgar heaves a huge sigh, but he's also smiling so Amelia knows she's forgiven and then he wraps his longer arms around them both to join the hug.

Amelia relishes in the warmth.

They're the Bones siblings, and that is never going to change.

Beneath them, their father smiles and walks away, the floor creaking gently as he leaves. They don't hear him, and he won't tell on them. (There will be hell to pay if mum finds out.)

The moment lasts a long time that summer night. They're sitting in a tangled heap. Edgar and Amelia take turns to teach Oscar constellations and tell stories about them. Oscar laughs at Edgar’s wildly made up myth about Scorpio. Amelia leans against her brothers, suddenly wishing nothing ever changes.

 

-

 

A year passes, and it's summer again. The Boneses are hosting a going away party for the eldest son and heir, Edgar.

The house is full of friends and family and fanciness. Mrs. Bones has impeccable taste, even though her eldest son often professes how stifling he finds it. Everything must be elegant. All the pureblood families are invited, and Mrs. Bones is nothing if not a perfect hostess.

Edgar is enjoying his freedom, hanging around his friends and talking excitedly about all the things they were going to do at Hogwarts. Oscar runs off with Gary Macmillan to play. Mr. Bones is talking with his co-workers.

Amelia is not present.

No one seems to notice. The spotlight is on Edgar, of course. The middle child, the daughter, is not particularly missed. (Except by, perhaps, Mrs. Bones, who wishes Amelia would make more friends with the proper pureblood girls but knows the girl would never give up on Fabian Prewett as her best friend.)

She's alone outside when it starts raining.

“Mia,” Fabian climbs next to her on the gnarled oak tree. Drops of rain filter through the leaves.

“I’m glad Ed’s going to Hogwarts,” she tells him. It’s true. Maybe people will stop referring to her as just “Edgar’s sister.” She’ll get to be in charge when Edgar’s gone. If Edgar goes, so will his shadow. She is sure she will shine far brighter without Edgar.

“Mia.” Fabian is not known for being soft-spoken, but his voice is uncommonly soft now.

Amelia turns to him with telltale water in her eyes, “Do you think he’ll forget about me and Ozzy?” It’s the rain. It’s the rain.

“He’s your brother.” For a moment it looks like he would have hugged her, but he nudges her in the side gently. The uncertain, awkward twist of his lips soon widen into a sunlit smile, “Besides, you still have me.”

Like a tentative rainbow, her mouth begins to mimic his smile, “So, you’ll never forget me?”

“Never,” he crosses his heart, hastily shaking his head.

“Good.” _Because I’ll never forget you too._

They sit on the big old oak branch long enough for the damp atmosphere to seep into their clothes, stray leaves scattering in their hair. Fabian is swinging his legs. Amelia leans against his bony shoulder, lightly, watching as leaves plaster onto the wet ground. There is a number of details she remembers from that day: dewdrops weighing down Fabian’s ginger curls, a canary nest hidden between twigs and leaves, and, especially, the fragrance oozing from the earth after the rain stops when they walk back. She never forgets that scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dare to write challenge; prompt #445


End file.
